


Camera Ready

by SordidFood



Category: Sorted (Website) RPF
Genre: Cam boy, Dildos, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Masturbation, Past Mike/Barry, Voyeurism, Web Cam Porn AU, more tags to come, porn au, porn star, slight D/s overtones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SordidFood/pseuds/SordidFood
Summary: Mike has a business proposition for Barry (spoiler alert: it's porn)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Barry and Mike make a porno
> 
> Thanks to the Sorted Discord for letting me work this out.

Mike sits in the booth, idly chewing at his cuticles as he waits for Barry to arrive. He’d texted him earlier that afternoon with a vague _“Want to grab a pint? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”_ At the time, he’d been full of such bluster and confidence over his idea that he hadn’t even thought twice about hitting send. Now, though… Well, he’s going to need to fake it a bit, because Mike knows that, even for Barry, this would be a hard sell.

Mike spots Baz as soon as he enters the pub, shaking off the cold of the winter air and greeting Mike with a wave.

“Barry! Hey, how’s it going?” Mike rises from the booth and greets Barry with a tight hug.

“I’m well,” Barry replies, slapping him on the back. They separate and Barry slides onto the bench on the other side of the booth. There’s a pint already waiting for him, courtesy of Mike, and he lifts his glass for a toast before taking a long drink. “How about you? Things ok? You still working at the cafe?”

Mike shakes his head. “No, no, I’m bartending a few nights a week at this place down the road,” he says. “And I’m helping a friend’s band record their demo.” Barry gives an understanding nod. Of all their school mates, only Mike and Baz were the ones who didn’t fly off to university after graduating. Mike hadn’t really thought at the beginning that it would change things between all of them, but every time anyone came home for Christmas break, it seemed that the divide between the Uni students and guys like Mike & Baz grew wider and wider.

“Good to hear,” Barry says, taking a sip of his beer.

“How’s the, uh, photography thing going?”

“Good, good… It’s going.” Barry sets his pint down. “I’m, uh, still trying to build my base right now. It’s kind of difficult.”

“I imagine,” Mike says. “Did anything ever come from that wedding thing you staged?” Barry shrugs and shakes his head.

“Sort of, I guess,” he mumbles. “I added the photos to my portfolio. I’ve booked a few things, but nothing major, y’know? Right now, I’m mostly helping my dad out to make enough to cover my rent.”

“Yeah,” Mike nods glumly. He knows the feeling. A drawn-out silence stretches out between them, punctuated by the sounds of the bar. Mike sips on his cider in an effort to occupy himself.

“So what did you need, Mike?” Barry asks, raising a brow.

“Pardon?”

“You said there was something you needed to talk to me about… So spill it.” Mike nods and wipes a few drops of cider from his moustache. He takes a breath and levels a look at Barry.

“First I need you to promise not to judge me.”

“I can’t make that promise.”

“Then I need you to promise not to think I’m an idiot.”

“I _definitely_ cannot make that promise,” Barry says with a smirk; Mike sighs.

“Fine, then I just need to you to not give me… that,” he gestures to Barry’s face. “That look.”

“What look?”

“That Barry look. With the eyebrow.” Barry stares at Mike for a moment, but eventually acquiesces.

“Fine,” he says. “So what’s going on?” Mike swallows hard; it’s now or never.

“You can do videography, right?” Barry’s eyes narrow and he hesitantly nods. “Would you be able to record me for a cam-boy website?” Several different emotions flicker over Barry’s face before he answers: confusion, disbelief, disgust, more confusion, dubiousness.

“Are you taking the piss?”

“I am not,” Mike says firmly.

“When you say ‘cam-boy’ site, you mean like… like men on camera…” Barry leans forward and lowers his voice. “Wanking off, right?”  

“You’re making that face.” Mike says.

“Because you’re asking me to watch you wanking off,” Barry hisses.

“No, I’m asking you to _film_ me wanking off.” Mike frowns. “Stop with the face already. It’s not like it isn’t anything you haven’t seen before.” Barry and Mike’s brief foray into being fuck-buddies is something they have never really talked about, and there has always been an unspoken, mutual agreement between them that it would remain that way.

“Just hear me out, ok?” Mike asks “I was snooping around online a couple nights ago, I stumbled upon this cam-boy website and I realized that none of these guys were like… male models, they were all sort of attractive guys. Like me and you.”

“Oi!”

“We are eights, _at best_ , Baz,” Mike counters. “Don’t kid yourself. Anyway, I want doing some research and this website is, at a minimum, £20 per month, for the most basic subscription, and a lot of these guys had two, three thousand viewers for a 2-hour live stream. They’ve got to be making serious money!” Mike realizes his voice has been slowly rising and immediately drops down to a lower decibel.

“So go get yourself hired by one of these places,” Baz offers.

“I looked into it-”

“Of course you did.”

“-It’s all freelance.” Mike continues. “They have accounts and the website takes a small service fee.”

“And you need me for the camera,” Barry supplies.

“And sound equipment, and staging, and set up and and just… basic film knowledge,” Mike adds. “I know nothing about this stuff, but you do!” Barry scrubs a hand over his face in frustration.

“Mike… you seriously want to do porn?” he asks.

“It’s not porn!” Mike blurts out, only to be immediately shushed by Barry. “Is it porn if you’re doing it by yourself?” Barry blinks slowly at him.

“Yes… yes, it is.” he says. “And honestly, I’m not sure if I’m ready to become a pornagrapher. I have integrity.”

“Integrity? Is that what it’s called when you’re shooting horse birthday parties and staging fake weddings?”

“Fuck you,” Barry mutters bitterly into his beer. He starts to move to gather his coat and exit the booth, but Mike grabs him by the wrist.

“Sorry, sorry, that came out wrong… what I mean is… look, Baz. Integrity is great and all, but it’s not going to pay your bills.” Mike looks at Baz. “I’m serious, I’m really sick of being left behind, and this might not get me farther, but.. Y’know what? At least it’s a good story.” Barry still looks skeptical. Mike shakes his head and pulls out his last option.

“Look, if you’re really uncomfortable with it, just… show me what to do,” he says. “Show me the set up, give me a basic rundown of shooting and I can do the rest. You’ll need to teach me about lighting and mics and-”

“I’ll do it,” Barry says, cutting him off.

“You will?” Mike asks, stunned.

“I will… And you’re paying me for this! Not just in beer, either, _actual_ money. 50/50 split.”

“Done,” Mike says, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Whatever you like.”

“I _won’t_ be on camera. You promise that?”

“Of course,” Mike assures. He can’t help himself and he slaps his hands on the table, causing the glasses to shake. “Let’s go shoot a porno, Baz!”

Barry groans.


	2. Chapter 2

Barry has seen his fair share of porn in his life ( _ don’t judge him! _ ) but he isn’t what he might call a “pornagraphy connoiseurr”- He couldn’t name porn star by name if held at gunpoint and he doesn’t understand the differences between the video categories such as “wolves” and “otters.”

But he does know that the set up they have right now in Mike’s bedroom would need several hundred pounds in upgrades to reach the look of “amateur.”

The “studio” is make-shift at best. Mike has tidied and replaced the random movie posters on the wall with framed ones,  but the place still has the run-down quality of all 20-somethings’ apartment, with bed sheets and duvets a bit too rumpled and furniture that has been handed down over and over. 

_ At least it’s clean _ , Barry thinks as he gets the second softbox set up. He doesn’t quite have the right equipment for videography, much less live video, but he’s been able to make due. His camera sits on the tripod facing the bed at a slightly lowered angle, with a microphone hastily purchased from a local electronics store (which set Barry back a pretty penny and which he hopes he can return if this whole thing falls through). A chord runs from the camera into Mike’s laptop, already set to the website and logged in, ready to launch. 

“All set to go?” Mike asks, stepping into the room. He’s freshly showered and dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt, his dark blonde still damp and falling across his forehead in a dramatic fringe than makes him look as dangerous and sexy as Barry’s always known him to be (although he’d be loathe to admit it to Mike). 

“Yeah, yeah, I think we are,” Barry says, stepping back from the camera. “Are you ready?” 

“I was born ready, Baz.” Mike flashes Barry a wink and crawls onto the bed as he starts to strip out of his shirt. 

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” Barry asks.  

“Um... I’m getting started.” Mike says, shirt halfway over his head. 

“Mike.” Barry shakes his head. “You can’t just jump into it. You have to  _ tease _ . Build it up. Don’t just rip your clothes off and go at it.”

“Have you watched these before, Baz?” Mike makes no effort to hide his wry look. 

“I needed to see what kind of lighting was regularly use and if we needed additional coverage.” Mike gives Baz a cheeky smile and slips his shirt back on. He settles back into the bed. 

“You’ve done your research?”

“Despite popular opinion, Michael,” Barry says, tapping a few buttons on the camera, a red light coming on, “I am not an  _ idiot _ . If we’re doing this, we’re putting forth an effort.” Mike actually looks impressed, settling back onto his bed. 

“Are we live?” he asks. Barry glances at the laptop screen, noting the bright green “Live” alert, and nods. “Alright , Mr. Director, tell me what to do?” Mike is looking at Barry expectantly. Despite Barry’s protests about not being an idiot and his crash-course run down in what it takes to shoot cam videos like this, he really has no fucking clue what he is doing. Not that that has ever stopped him before.

_ “Blag it ‘till you make it, _ ” he thinks, squaring back his shoulders a bit. “So... uh, why don’t you introduce yourself to the camera?” 

“Really, Barry?” Mike raises an eyebrow as he settles onto a more comfortable position on his haunches. “This isn’t a dating video… Do we even have anyone watching yet?” Barry’s eyes dart toward the counter on the laptop screen. 

“No,” he admits flatly. “But they will. Look, just talk to me for now, and... play with your shirt, alright?”

“My shirt?” 

“Like push it up on your stomach a bit…” Mike pauses for a second before gripping the edge of his t-shirt and lifting it slightly, revealing a brief glimpse of pale skin and his adonis’s belt. “yeah, like that… Tell everyone your name.”

“I’m Mike. I’m 23,” He winks at the camera.

“And what do you do, Mike?”

“Uh, play music sometimes… play football.” Mike scratches at the back of his head. “Uh, right now I’m bartending.” Barry nods, gaze following the way Mike’s hand continues trail up and under his T-shirt, fingers fiddling with the dusting of hair around his navel. 

“So what do you want me to talk about, Barry?” Mike’s question shakes Barry from his focus.

“Uh… What did you do today?” He asks, pretending to work on the camera, “and, uh, run your other hand up and down your thigh.” Mike does as he is told, languidly moving his hand up and down his leg.

“Woke up late, worked a shift, came here... that’s been it” Barry hums to himself and tries to adjust a light. An extended silence stretches between them, Mike continuing to look at the camera and occasionally at Barry. It’s disarming, but not in a way that’s unpleasant. Mike’s hand veers further and further along his thigh and Barry catches the barest hitch in Mike’s breath when he veers close to the evident arousal beneath his shorts.

“So... what do you like to think about when you get off?” Barry finally asks. Mike’s hands still for a moment and then continue. 

“Uh, I don’t know, someone hot.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“No, not really,” Mike scratches his nails over his stomach idly. “I like... I like nice hands.” Mike’s left hand moves closer to his inner thigh.  “Like really nicely kept nails, long fingers.”

“Soft?” Barry can’t help but glance at this own hands..

“No, rough, or... more rough. Callused, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Barry agrees, somewhat obliviously, eyes switching between the camera, the laptop, and Mike. “Hey why don’t you pinch your nipple a bit?” Mike huffs.

“This just for you, Baz?” He gives him a pointed look. 

“Just do what I say.” The words aren’t meant as an order, but Barry enjoys the way Mike’s frame tenses as soon as he says them. He pushes his shirt farther up, revealing his mostly bare chest. Mike inhales as he rolls a nipple between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

“I also like, ah, ... uh, hair... facial hair,” he continues. 

Barry snorts and looks at Mike. “That why you liked me, then?”

“I liked your mouth,” Mike answers coyly. His eyes are closed and his head is lolled back. He exhales as he squeezes a nipple between two fingernails.

“Rub yourself,” Barry says nudging his chin toward Mike’s groin and enjoying the way Mike complies with no argument. “And say hi to your audience.” Mike lifts his head and opens his eyes. 

“We have viewers?” 

“16... no, 17” Barry says.  Mike grins and gives an awkward wave as he roughly squeezes his cock beneath the fabric.

"How's everyone doing out there?" he asks.

"Uh, someone is saying... 'Take it out'" Mike starts to push down at the elastic but Barry stops him with a whistle. 

"Mike…” he warns. “Teasing, remember?"

"I can't give them what they are asking for?" His disappointed expression borders on pouting, and from the uptick in the numbers on the screen, it’s clear that it’s very appealing.

"Trust me." Barry says. "Teasing is good…” Mike rolls his eyes, but continues to give the camera bedroom eyes.

“Quit doing your ‘smoulder,’ Mike.” Barry hits a couple buttons on the camera, pulling the shot out wide. “You just look constipated.” Mike huffs in irritation and swears at Baz under his breath. His hand continues rubbing up and down under his shirt, fingers trailing over his chest and occasionally rolling a pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

"We're at 45," Barry mumbles, watching the number on the screen rise as more messages pour in on the chat box. "They want to see more of you."

"How much more?” Mike grins at the camera. “Baz, Wouldn't it be easier if I could just see the screen?" Barry gives him a pointed look, silently asking  _ “Do you want my help or not?” _

"Get your shirt off,” Barry orders, “and get up on your knees.” 

"You sure?” he asks, rising up onto his knees. "I'm not ruining the moment?"

"You keep that mouth running too much and I'm going to find a way to shut you up." Barry tries to make it sound playful, but from the way Mike reacts and the way the chat box seems to explode with comments, it’s clear that wasn’t what came across.

"Promise?" Mike asks with a wink, pulling his shirt over his head. He exaggerates the stretch of his torso as he does, his ribs are just barely visible. Barry lets out a low whistle.

"They like that.... 

"How many do we have?"  

"130…” Barry’s eyes scan the comments. “They want to see you, uh, from behind." Mike shrugs and turns away from the camera. 

"This is my good side," he jokes, palms sliding over the curve of his arse. He hooks his thumbs along the elastic of his shorts and glances back at the camera. "Thoughts?"

"Show 'em a little," Barry suggests. His teeth dig lightly into his bottom lips as he watches Mike wiggle his hips and shimmy the shorts down just enough to reveal the top of his arse. Barry notices a new comment in the chat and chuckles to himself. 

"They say you're 'thicc', Mike." Mike twists back, his expression one of mock outrage.

"Are you calling me fat?" He glares at the camera

"’Your arse is fat,’" Barry reads off the screen. He gives Mike a shrug. "They're not wrong." Mike hums and pulls his shorts back up. 

"Maybe I should just take my fat arse somewhere else then." He gives another little shake and pouts back at the camera.

"Were at 240... No, 280." Barry gets a mischievous look in his eye. "Bend over, Mike. Really show them that arse of yours."

"Shorts still on?" Barry laughs as the chat screen seems to explode with activity. 

"Off is very popular," he says, and then, in a whisper. "Keep your boxers on though." Mike rises off the bed and Barry adjusts the camera to follow him. Mike swallows hard, looking strangely trepiditious. 

“What’s wrong?” Barry whispers. Mike shakes his head and starts to push his shorts down.

“Nothing, really,” Mike murmurs under his breath. “Just wrapping my head around that I’m going to be naked for strangers on the internet.

Barry’s about to ask if he wants to stop,  but Mike pushes his shorts off without further comment. He looks back up to Barry, as if awaiting more direction. 

"Back on the bed now," Barry says, turning the camera back to its original spot. "Now, turn away from the camera, bend over and arch your back a bit, alright." Mike obliges.

"Like this?" he asks. widening his thighs slightly and pushing his bottom out. It’s an appealing sight, Barry can admit, and he’s slightly embarrassed when Mike glances back and catches Barry adjusting himself in his jeans. 

"Are you enjoying this?" Mike asks coyly.

"Shut up, you know you're hot as fuck." Barry turns his index finger in a circle. "Turn back and grab the bedpost, alright?" Mike purses his lips in an air kiss before he turns and grips the wooden posts of the bed. He rocks his hips a little from side to side and lets out an involuntary little moan.

"You liking this aren’t you?" Barry asks. Mike closes his eyes and nods, wanting to focus on nothing but his most base senses. 

"Yeah."

"Your audience is begging for your cock right now." Barry says, noticing the number clicking from 560 to 561. Mike groans, moving a hand off the post to squeeze at the base of his dick. Barry’s own hand mirrors his movement "And I think maybe you should give it to them." 

There's a scratch of a chair against the floor as Barry sprawls back in the chair. He works open the fly of his jeans, sliding his hand into his briefs. 

"Fuck, Baz," Barry’s gaze snaps up, catching the heated look in Mike’s eyes as he watches him. 

"Turn around!" Barry orders. Mike immediately obeys, turning to face the wall. "Lose the boxers." Mike nods and slides his boxer briefs down until they are at his knees. "All the way off." He awkwardly steps out of them while still remaining kneeled on the bed, casting aside on the floor with the rest of his clothing.

"What now?" Mike asks, his voice shaking with nerves.

"Hands on your arse." Barry's voice doesn't sound like his own- It's harsher, colder, and a bit more aggressive. Mike doesn’t seem to mind, responding to it with a gentle whimper. "Spread your cheeks apart and show them your hole." Mike arches his back even more as he teasingly runs his hands up and down over the meat of his arse. He spreads himself apart slowly, just a tease before letting them come back together.

"How many do we have?" He asks.

"Uh... 780. They want to see you finger yourself. Do you have any lube?" Mike gives a soft chuckle.

"Fresh out, I'm afraid," he says. "Perhaps we should give them the main event?"

"Yeah," Barry's voice is still that low timbre. "Yeah, Mike, do that. Get yourself off."

Mike turns around, still on his knees and settles back on his heels once more. He looks debauched, skins flushed with just a light sheen of sweat across his face and chest. Barry knows he doesn’t look much better, his dick in hand, stroking himself in a slow, deliberate manner. 

Mike’s hand moves up and down the length of his cock, barely giving any pressure. Every few upstrokes, he brushes a thumb over the head, sliding a dribble of precome over his shaft with each stroke. His teeth dig into his bottom lips and Barry can hear the soft, choked gasps he’s trying to hold back.   
  


“Don’t stay quiet, Mike.” Barry says. “They want to hear you.”

“Do they?” Mike’s fist clenches at the base of his dick. “Or do you?” He gives a teasing look, brow raised in some sort of challenge. 

Barry wants none of that.

“Both.” Barry spits out. “Just fucking do it.” Mike’s grin widens and the speed of his hand immediately picks up. He doesn’t hold back, letting his whole body relax into the movement as if a string was clipped inside of him. His mouth drops open, a moan echoing off his bedroom walls.

His hips pulse forward and he fucks his fist. He only pauses for a moment to take his hand away from his cock so he can lick up his palm before returning it to his cock.

“Christ, Mike,” Barry hisses. Mike chuckles to himself as he lets his drop head back, going for broke. Barry hopes his walls have some sort of sound-proofing, because there is no way his neighbors can’t hear him right now.

Mike doesn’t look like he even cares.  

“Going to come,” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. It only takes a couple strokes until Mike is spurting over the bed sheets in thick, milky ropes. Barry’s own orgasm takes him by surprise and he has to scramble to catch his release in his hand. 

Mike doubles over as he finishes, falling onto his elbows and catching his breath. Barry shivers as a couple aftershocks pass over him. He grimaces down at his palm and then wipes the mess on his t-shirt. Mike rolls across his bed, awkwardly stretching down to grab his shorts off the floor.

Barry twists his chair and glances at the screen, eyes going wide as the number jumps out at him. The chat box is exploding with various lewd comments. Barry hits a couple keys and the green “Live” button goes dark. 

“We’re offline.” he mumbles as he tucks himself back into his jeans. Mike looks up. “Final Number was 1106.”

“Well, Damn,” Mike says. “Not bad for a first time.” He awkwardly stumbles off the bed crosses to Barry. “Do we know how much I made?”

“ _ We _ made.” Barry corrects. “You said you’d pay me.”

“That I did.” Mike says, leaning over Barry’s shoulder. “So how much?”  Barry clicks to their account page, his face creased in concentration. 

“I guess they pay at the end of the month, but it looks like we’re at almost £200.”

“That’s it!?” Mike squawks.

“You worked for a half hour.” Barry gives him a sardonic look. “That’s not bad.”

Mike sighs and flops back down onto the bed. “Better than nothing I suppose. But it won’t pay my rent.”

“Well, no, it’s like any job.” Barry rises to his feet, crossing his arms across his chest. “You’ll just have to do it more” As soon as he says it, Barry realizes what he’s implying.

“If... if you’re up to it, that is?” he adds.  Mike runs a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful. When he lifts his gaze, he’s nodding.

“I’m up for anything,” he says with a shrug. “Are you?” Barry blinks in surprise. 

“I… I don’t think…” 

“Oh c’mon, Baz!” Mike huffs. “You were having a better time than I was.”

“Yeah, But-“

“But nothing!” Mike jumps to his feet and takes Barry by the shoulders. “Do you really want to spend the next decade taking pictures of animal birthdays before taking some lifeless office job to pay the bills?” Barry frowns deeply; Mike always knows which buttons to push.

“Or... do you want to be a porn  _ auteur _ .” He puts heavy emphasis on the last word. Barry rolls his eyes but he laughs. This isn’t what he wants to do, not really… 

… But he absolutely will do anything to stay out of doing office temp work.

“Alright, Alright,” he shakes Mike off. “You’re so dramatic, Michael.” Mike gives him a wry look.

“Of  _ course _ I am,” he says, casting out his hand with a flair. “I’m the star.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ben practically stumbles into his flat, exhaustion soaking his bones. It had been an intolerably long day- arriving at the hotel before sunrise to help unload the produce, an entire day spent on prepping dishes and ingredients for evening service, a brief rush at lunch time with few a corporate groups, tidying the kitchen in the early afternoon prior to dinner, and then finally a dinner rush which kicked off promptly at 5 pm and didn’t seem to end until well after 10. Ben’s agency had told him that this hotel needed someone who could handle stress with a clear head, and now he understood why. It was good money, though, and he’d gladly fill in as long as needed, but he was also glad that there was a secondary staff to work the Sunday services. Ben needed to recoup tomorrow. 

He toes off his shows, the rubber shiny and slick from the residual oils of the kitchen. He undresses as he shuffles through his darkened apartment, each snap on his chefs jacket making a refreshing little “pop” as he pulls them open. By the time he reaches his bed, he’s down to his boxer briefs. He knows he should gather all his soiled clothes and drop them into the hamper, but he can’t summon the energy.

_ “Fuck it,” _ Ben thinks to himself, slumping down on top of the duvet. The joy of living alone is that your flat can be as filthy as you like and no one can tell you off for it. 

He settles back against his head board, sinking down against one of the pillows. All he wants right now is to go to sleep, to be absorbed by his mattress, and not come up until his bladder demands it. 

But there is something else being demanded of him right now. 

This always happens post-shift, right when he comes home. The adrenaline of the kitchen rush and the thrill of a job well done still making it impossible to quiet his brain, even as his body insists he needs rest. He knows from experience that ignoring the frenetic energy coursing through him right now would only mean being wide awake at 2 am, delirious with exhaustion but incapable of giving into it.

There’s only one thing that ever works. 

Ben hefts himself off the bed with a grunt, and moves to grab his laptop off the dresser where he left it last night. Another perk of living alone is that there are no nosy roommates asking probing questions about exactly  _ why _ your laptop is in your bedroom.

Ben retakes his spot on the bed and cracks open the computer as a warm blue glow seems to fill the room. The Google logo stares back at him as Ben opens an incognito screen. He’s not sure if he really  _ needs _ to do it, but it was a habit that started in uni when he had housemates and it just seemed to carry over. As if on instinct, he types in the web address to his favorite site.

Ben doesn’t consider himself terribly kinky person. While he’s not inexperienced by any means and he’s open to experimentation for the sake of his partner, his own tastes run, well… quite typical. He doesn’t find any enjoyment in being bossed around in the bedroom and feet and most bodily fluids put him off. Roleplay seems a bit pointless to him and, after being around food all day, anything edible is an absolute no. Whenever he’s asked about his fantasies, he always comes up with something vague about blindfolds or feathers. For a gay man, he’s almost boring (and sadly, more than one partner has said as much).

There is only one exception to Ben’s list of non-kinks. 

He smiles to himself as the screen loads, images of attractive men in various states of undress and arousal staring back at him. He hovers the cursor over to the  _ “watch live now” _ button and clicks on it. The screen loads again, a list of various usernames, all with the little green dot next to them indicating that they are currently broadcasting. Ben scrolls down the list, eyes traveling over various names and thumbnails. A name jumps out at him, one he’s never noticed before - “M1K3B86”, with an image of a man’s orange speedo-clad backside. Ben considers the image for a moment and then clicks on it. The screen expands to a live video window.

“-in the shower?… Not sure how I feel about that.” A full-body shot of a shirtless man fill the screen, the same man in the thumbnail, from what Ben assumes. “Maybe another day, yeah?” To the right of the screen, Ben notices the chat window exploding with activity. 

_ “Fuck yeah, do it!” _

_ “Get wet for me, baby.”  _

_ “Let me eat ur ass!” _

The man’s eyes dart down, as if reading along with the chat log, and then back up to the camera. He laughs lightly and his eyes crinkle at the corner when he does. One thing Ben likes about this site is that the men on here look real, not overly-built or steroid-addled like other sites. They don’t look like porn actors, just normal blokes you’d see at the shop or maybe on the train to work.

This guy is no exception- He’s slender and sinewy... “wirey”, Ben might say. He leans against a door frame in what might be a bedroom. His chest is lean and a bit muscular, hairless, but for a thin trail traveling from his navel to where it dips into the top of his jeans. 

“I see that’s a really popular option, the shower,” the guy says, giving the camera a little wink. “Tell ya what: If you can get the view count high enough tonight…” He pauses, giving the camera a hot glare that has blood rushing to Ben’s cheeks and other parts of his body. “...I promise next week I’ll hop in the shower for you lot.” he grins and bites at his lips as he runs a hand across his belly, short nails dragging across the skin just barely. 

Ben lets out a shaky exhale, settling down further on his bed. He moves the computer off his lap and to his right in order to give himself room. He idly palms his growing erection as the camera pans across the room, following the guys movements as he kneels on the bed. 

“What should I do?’ the guy looks past the camera, talking to another person in the room. There a muffled noise that the microphone almost picks up on. The guy on camera nods and his hand wanders up to his chest, rolling a bright pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

“That’s good, Mike,” the voice behind the camera says. “Do the other one.”

“Does everyone like when I play with my nips?” Mike looks into the camera, blue eyes darkening. The chat box once again comes to life with lewd encouragements. Mike gasps sharply and pinches down on a nipple. He lets his eyes close and his head flop back. 

“You like your tits being played with?” the disembodied voice behind the camera asks. From the look Mike gives him, it’s clear there’s some sort of inside joke between them.

“Shut up,” Mike says playfully. He re-positions himself onto his bottom, stretching out across the bed so his back is against the headboard and he knees fall open. He lazily slides a hand up and down his thigh, grazing over his evident arousal. An involuntary shudder runs through Ben and he squeezes his own cock, already hard. 

Ben’s hand hovers over his keyboard. He’s not entirely sure if he wants to send a chat message to this guy, but he wants to interact with him as well. 

_ “Can we see it, please?” _ he types. It’s so innocuous it’s almost innocent and Ben immediately wants to pull it back, but there is no delete button.

“Can you see it?” Mike reads and the instant rush of acknowledgement has Ben making a soft whimper. He pulls his own cock out from his underwear, the tip already glistening with pre-come. “Well, you asked so nicely.” Mike gives the camera a heated look. “It would be rude to say no. 

It feels like an age as he undoes the fly of his jeans, arching up enough the work them off over his round arse. When he finally kicks them off, boxers and all, Mike is left stark naked, reclining across the bed like some renaissance painting.

“Fuck,” Ben mutters, his hand now working in a constant movement up and down his shaft. Mike is everything he wants right now. Fantasies flit through his mind -  flipping Mike over and driving him into the mattress, fucking him as he grips the headboard, crying Ben’s name. Ben’s hand moves across the keyboard intuitively.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Mike reads Ben’s words off the chat box. “Well thank you. Any requests in particular.” Again, Ben types automatically. 

“You want me to open myself up?” Mike asks, glancing at the camera. On the other side, the faraway voice of the cameraman makes a sound that could be mistaken for a moan. “Well, it seems my director likes that, too.” Something is tossed from offscreen. As it lands on the bed, Ben notices that it’s a bottle of lube. 

 Ben lets out a shuttered breath as he watches Mike settle back against the headboard, legs falling open. Two slick fingers circle his hole as he grasps his shaft in the other. Mike’s jaw clenches and his eyes squint shut with the first intrusion of his fingers. 

“Christ,” Ben mutters. He couldn’t draw his eyes away from the screen if he wanted to- Mike is all tense muscle and gasping breaths and the occasional glimpse of a pink tongue over his lips. His hips buck and his legs kick and shift, pushing the duvet out of the camera frame. The voice of the so-called director can be heard coercing Mike to add another finger.

“Fuck yourself… that’s it, Baby,” the voice says. “ _ Baby”  _ earns a soft whimper from Mike as well as Ben. Ben’s hand shakes as he tries to type something reasonably coherent into the chat box. 

_ “Want to see u cum” _ is the best he can come up with.

Mike doesn’t seem to be paying attention to the chat log or even the camera, too caught up in the feeling of his fingers and his hands and chasing his own orgasm. 

“Ah, Fuck!” He cries out, practically lifting off the bed as he fucks himself more viciously on his fingers. 

“You want a dildo, Mike?” The Cameraman asks. Mike moans lewdly in response.

“Reading my mind, Baz.” His words are a breathy slur. There’s a flash of color across the screen as a coral-colored dildo lands on the bed next to Mike. It looks huge to Ben, but Mike doesn’t hesitate or react to the size as he takes hold of it. He pauses to lube up the object, momentarily remembering that the camera is there, and giving such a obscene look to the audience that a curse escapes Ben’s lips. 

Mike’s eyes stay on the camera, mouth open and letting out small cries as he slowly inserts the dildo. Several graphic messages appear on the chat; Mike’s eyes widen as he reads them but then burst out in a loud shock of laughter. 

“You lot are  _ filthy _ ,” he teases with a wink. “Almost as filthy as me.” His words are cut off with a gasp as he fully inserts the dildo. Ben watches him swallow hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, adjusting to the stretch. 

_ “Wish it were my cock,” _ Ben types. Ben appreciates the anonymity of the chat box. Not that he’s ashamed of his desires and peccadillos, far from it, but he appreciates that he can cultivate a professional persona and not have it affected by what he does in his private time (like, say, watching men wank off on the internet). 

“Wish it were, too,” Mike murmurs as he fucks himself in earnest with the dildo. The unexpected acknowledgment causes a zip of adrenaline and arousal to run up Ben’s spine and he suddenly coming with a shudder, shooting hard enough that ropes of come coat his chest. 

Ben lays there on his bed for two solid minutes, chest heaving and eyes wide, shocked and amazed with the strength of his orgasm. On the screen, Mike is moaning loudly and writhing on his bed. Ben can’t summon the energy to pay attention, too bathed in his own afterglow. 

“Hell, ‘m gonna-,” Mike cuts himself off with a gasp as he comes. Ben closes his eyes and listens, enjoying the lovely noises Mike makes as well as the quiet encouragement of this “Baz” person. Ben pushes up on his elbows and looks at the screen. Mike lays stretched out, chest heaving and dildo still seated inside of him. For some reason, the image feels too raw for Ben, perhaps a bit to intimate, and starts to X out of the screen. 

Mike sits up on the bed and looks at the camera, a lazy, fucked-out smile on his face stopping Ben from closing the window. 

“That was lovely,” He says, speaking directly to the Camera; Ben could almost believe he was speaking only to him. “Make sure you visit again and we can have that shower I promised.” He flashes a sly wink at the camera and the screen goes dark, “Live” button going red. 

Ben blinks in surprise for a second. He navigates the cursor across the screen, over to the button reading “subscribe” and clicks on it. 

“Definitely need to come back to this one,” Ben mumbles to himself. 


	4. Chapter 4

James enjoys his routines. He enjoys the routine of the day to day in the kitchen. He enjoys taking precise care in each skill until it’s honed to perfection. He enjoys the repetition of prepping for the banquets the club hosts, marveling at the site of hundreds of dishes laid out across the line, all identical and appetizing. He enjoys paying special attention to the clean up at the end of the evening, taking note of every detail and training himself to do it the “proper way” until it becomes muscle memory.

His routine keeps him sane, especially when he’s 5000 miles from home and anyone he knows, living on an entirely different continent. He reminds himself that it’s only a year, but then that usually sets off the anxiety of what he will do once he returns to England. He doesn’t fear the possibility of starting his career, but he does fear that he might not be good enough. He certainly wasn’t good enough at computer science. 

When he feels this way, it’s easier to find the routine and fall into it, rather than worrying oneself into a tizzy over potential problems. 

So James has set a routine for nearly everything he does, down to his return home each evening. He walks through the door, re-placing his shoes where they need so he doesn’t wake his flatmate as he leaves early in the morning. He ensures his fresh chef’s jacket is pressed and ready to go. Dinner is normally something brought home from the country club, which James eats at their small dining table (no reason to buck manners just because one isn’t at home). After dinner, he checks emails and Facebook, vaguely scrolling the internet until it’s time. 

But this… this is James’s favorite routine. 

He closes the bedroom door behind him, taking care to lock it. His flatmate, Noah, has a bad habit of bursting into rooms unannounced and James realized quickly that the door lock was a necessity. He drops his laptop on the bed, crisply made as always, and begins shedding his clothes in order to shower. 

After a long day in the kitchen, the steam and fry oils and contradicting aromas seeping into your skin, nothing is as refreshing as a shower. James takes his time, scrubbing himself down with a loofah. He pointedly avoids his cock, already half-hard in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Patience,” he tells himself under his breath as he lathers his chest, suds foaming in the soft tufts of orangish-brown hair right over his sternum. He rinses his hair, standing beneath the hot spray of water for a few indulgent seconds before turning off the water and stepping out. 

He doesn’t bother redressing once he’s back in his bedroom. James pulls back his duvet and settles onto the bed. A shiver runs through him and causes tracts of goose pimples to appear on his skin. He can’t tell if it’s from the chill in the air or the anticipation of things to come. 

Maybe both. 

He realizes he holding his breath and exhales slowly as he opens his computer and navigates to the website. He’d only found it a few weeks ago, but it was quickly becoming his favorite distraction. He knew there were many sites out there featuring buff, attractive men wanking off for the camera, but James appreciated that this one seemed to be almost entirely out of the UK - Just a little bit of home when he was far away. 

The home screen pops up, showing various live feeds currently running as well as click-bait type of ads recommending that he chat with singles in his area. James ignores them, scrolling down to his favorites. There are a few different channel feeds he’s subscribed to in the last couple months, but one in particular has had his attention lately. The icon a pair of orange briefs barely covering a man’s backside. The little green dot in the bottom left corner indicates he is live-streaming currently. James clicks on the icon and the screen enlarges. 

His breath catches in his throat at the image filling his screen. Rather than the normal setting of a bedroom, Mike, the star of the channel, stands beneath a shower spray, rivulets of warm, sudsy water traveling down his torso toward his groin, where he has his hard dick already in hand. 

James’s patience instantly evaporates, he can’t get his hands wrapped around his own dick fast enough. He’s hard as stone and precome dribbles from the tip freely. He knew this would happen; every time he’s clicked on Mike’s livestream, he ends up coming in about two minutes. Something about the way the guy moves or the way he looks at the camera, like he wants to be the filthiest fuck you’ve ever had. 

James swallows hard, slowing the pace of his hand in an effort to savor the moment a bit longer. Broken gasps and curses escape Mike’s throat, echoing against the wall and the spray of the shower.  His shoulders press back into the tile as his lower body arches up into the movement of his fist. His damp hair lays flattened against his forehead as he gazes up to the ceiling.

A voice in the background says something that James can’t make out, but Mike understands, glancing just above the camera and nodding. He’s no doubt taking an order from his “director”. James watches unblinking as Mike turns around and pushes his glorious arse out, displaying it for the camera. Mike presses his face into his forearm, leaning forward against the wall as he reaches back and slides a hand between his cheeks. 

“Oh fuck,” James mutters, unable to hold back his orgasm and arching back into his pillow as he comes. He lets out a broken, breathy cry as the wave of pleasure rolls over him, his hand still working his shaft until it’s nearly painful with oversensitivity.

James comes back to himself after a minute, heart thudding in his chest loud enough he’s sure he can hear it. The screen still plays in front of him, Mike enthusiastically opening himself up. James notices a bright green dildo on one of the shower ledges and can only assume he’s preparing for that. The chat box is a non-stop stream of comments, mostly  _ “Ur so hot”  _ and lewd emojis. James continues to watch the stream, mostly in a half-catatonic state occasionally punctuated by twitch from his spent cock. He watches Mike fuck himself vigorously with the dildo, spurred on by encouraging remarks from his director. He begs to come, murmuring something which almost sounds like “Bass.” James idly strokes his still-soft dick, mostly out of habit, as he watches Mike spill against the shower wall, crying out as shudders wrack his body. 

The show is over and James knows he should close the laptop and go to bed. Call time is early in the morning as always and he’s going to need the sleep to handle the breakfast prep. He can’t seem to close the computer though. 

Mike steps out of the shower and begins to towel off. The chat box begins slow down and user names start to drop off the running sidebar on the right of the screen. James watches each name click off until it’s just him and a few others who have likely abandoned their computers while still logged on. He expects to see the video screen go dark, but it doesn’t; Mike dresses in front of the camera, slipping on a pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt. His hair is still wet and James has a sudden need to feel the damp strands between his fingers. Mike giggles at something someone off screen says, and James is charmed by the way the laughter lights up his whole face.

_ “You have a really lovely smile,” _ he types out. As soon as he hits enter, a cold feeling of regret fills his stomach. What kind of idiot says that on a web cam chat log? Mike glances down at the screen, his face going still for a moment and then lighting up once more.

“Oh, why thank you, uh... Cur788? I think I said that right. Did I?” James hadn’t put too much thought into his username when he’d picked it. He’d just needed something that was easy to remember, but wouldn’t make him too identifiable.

_ “It’s fine,”  _ James types back. His hands linger over the keyboard for a moment and he debates whether or not to keep typing.  _ “I liked the show tonight.” _

“Thank you again,” MIke says. “A lot of people were requesting the shower tonight.”

_ “Well, I appreciate it.” _ James considers what to type next. He knows he shouldn’t feel starstruck chatting with an internet porn actor thousands of miles away, but… he kind of does.  _ “You heading to bed now?” _

“Should be,” Mike says with a laugh. “It’s well past 2 am and I need my beauty rest after all.” The director says something that James can’t make out. “Oi!” Mike’s brow furrows at what was no doubt a rude comment. 

_ “I think anymore beauty sleep would just be overkill,” _ James types. He’s not a poetic type by any means, but he impresses himself even that he came up with something so eloquent. A soft smile spreads across Mike’s face and he looks away a bit shyly, once again endearing him to James just a bit more. 

“You’re going to have me blushing,” he says, rolling his eyes. Mike looks past the camera at the Director saying something. “Oh, yeah, man… Sorry about that. Yeah, uh, just let yourself out, alright? Same time on Wednesday?” Mike looks back at the Camera. “Sorry, Baz was just saying good-bye. You’re up late, aren't you?” James can’t believe he’s actually chatting with Mike, even less so that Mike is asking questions. 

_ “I’m actually in the United States.” _

“American?” Mike blinks in surprise.

_ “No, no, I’m British, just on a work-exchange for Uni.” _ Mike nods at the camera in understanding, but there’s an odd look in his eyes that James can’t place. It’s not jealousy; it’s almost… longing.

“So what made you search out this feed?” Mike asks as he scrubs his hands through damp hair. “Homesick?”

_ “A bit, yeah,” _ James admits, and he stuns himself with how easily he’d just admitted to that. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about how lonely or isolated he felt living in a quaint little village in Connecticut - not his parents or the other chef trainees or even the lead chef at the club. Even for a guy as quiet and introverted as he is, the remoteness of the situation he’s in is really taking a toll on him. He should feel elated at this opportunity, he is  _ really,  _ but ever since he’d arrived, he’s felt like perhaps this career might be a mistake, just as ComSci was. 

Mike frowns at the screen. “I’m sorry, mate,” he says genuinely, “It’s always hard living away from home… Well, not that’d I know. But I’ve heard.

_ “I’m trying to build a career in the service industry and…” _ James sighs, trying to focus the message in his words.  _ “... I’ve never felt this disconnected from everyone before.” _ Mike’s frown deepens but there is real concern in his eyes. That cold regret feeling returns and James starts to fear that maybe this was a lot to put on Mike when they don’t even know each other. He expects Mike to make a rushed comment about needing to get some sleep, but instead he pulls a rolly chair toward the computer and camera. 

“We can talk if you like,” He offers. “I mean, I’m not going to sleep anytime soon. We can...uh, just chat if you like.” James feels the cold pit of his stomach melt away and his shoulders relax as he starts to type a reply.

_ “Yeah, I’d like that,” _ he writes.


	5. Chapter 5

Barry should have known something was up when Jamie Spafford contacted him after two and a half years, out of the blue.

“Baaaaazzzz,” Jamie’s voice can be heard above the noise of the pub as Barry steps inside. He grins and waves at Jamie, weaving between the tables until he reaches the booth. Jamie swallows him up in one of his usual bear hugs and Barry finds himself relaxing into the normalcy of it. Of all the people to run off to university and never return, Jamie was the one Barry had missed the most. He had been one of Barry’s best mates and literally the only person who Barry could talk cars with. Jamie thought Barry was funny and never took the mick out of him, at least not in a way that wasn’t also accompanied by a wink and a cheeky grin that said he wasn’t serious. Hell, when it came down to it, Jamie was to blame for Barry’s current… professional situation since  _ he  _ was the one who introduced him and Mike.

“Hey, Jay, how’ve you been? How’s work?” Barry asks, pulling back from the hug. “You at the same firm?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great, really good,” Jamie sits back down on the bench, raising a hand and signaling the server for another two beers. “I’m leading the social media team now.”

“Weren’t you doing branding?”

“Yeah, but it’s all part and parcel, yeah?...” Jamie begins to ramble off technobabble and corporate buzzwords and Barry nods along as if he understands, inserting _ “hmm’s” _ and  _ “Yeah, ok’s” _ occasionally. He appreciates that Jamie is  _ into  _ marketing, but from the moment he’d entered the program, it had become his life. The first couple term breaks when he’d come home, he’d gone off on long tangents about logo design and why Saul Bass is  _ an absolute legend, Baz. _ Barry had hoped that once the shine had worn off on the subject, maybe Jamie would be back to his old self, but after a couple years, all Barry could do was just shrug and accept that this was Jamie now. 

“You know,” Jamie begins after draining the remainder of his drink, “If you’d like, I could put in a good word for you at the firm. We’re always looking for creative talent.”

“You’re hiring photographers?” 

“Well, uh, no… but I’m talking in branding, Baz. You’re a creative guy, you’re good with design. You’d be a perfect fit.” Barry hates the way the idea makes Jamie’s eyes light up. 

“Jamie,” he says flatly. “I’ve never attended Uni. Hell, I’m not even sure what my GCSEs  _ were _ . The best I can offer is a 10-week photography course and… a Swiss ski instructor certification.”

“It doesn't matter, though,” Jamie insists. “Half my team? Recommendations from other employees. Some of their degrees have nothing to do with marketing.”

“But they have degrees,” Barry sighs. 

“I promise you, it doesn’t matter,” Jamie shakes his head. “It’s all learn-as-you-go. Digital media changes so rapidly that my degree won’t even really matter in a couple years. You just keep picking stuff up.” Barry has to admit, it’s a tempting offer- a stable job, a career, something his parents can brag about to their friends.  _ “Oh, our Barry?… Why, he’s working in London right now in marketing. I know. Can you believe it?” _

“I don’t know if I could bust my arse behind a desk for 40 hours a week, Jay,” Barry lets his head drop back against the back of the bench and Jamie lets out a guffaw.

“40 hours?” He raises a brow. “I’m working closer to 60, to be honest,” Jamie rubs a hand over his beard. “Really, the hours are the only drawback, but hey… we wouldn’t stick you in a box at least. Open office plan.” Barry snorts at the joke, but he keeps watching Jamie. He looks different than he did a couple years before. It’s not just the haircut or the glasses, he looks… harder, more focused. Barry isn’t sure how much he likes the look. 

The waitress stops by, setting a couple pints of Guinness on the table in front of them. Jamie grins at her as he hands over 20 quid and purrs  _ “Keep the change, pet.” _ She giggles lightly, her hips swaying deliberately as she walks back. 

“You back into girls, then?” Barry asks and Jamie shrugs. 

“I’m into anyone,” he admits. “Can’t be too picky, I like to say.”

“Anyone serious?” Jamie shakes his head, his smile turning a little sad. 

“Nah, I don’t have the kind of time right now. You know how it is.” Barry really doesn’t, but he lets the comment slide as Jamie holds up his pint for a toast. They clink glasses and each take a grateful pull off their drinks. The conversation comes to a lull at the perfect moment, giving Barry a chance gather his bearings.

“Oh, Mate!” Jamie exclaims, “I have the craziest news to share with you. Part of the reason why I called you up, actually.” Barry narrows his eyes dubiously. Usually a comment like that was accompanied by news of an engagement or a pregnancy, but Jamie clearly had neither in the works. 

“What’s up?” he asks. Jamie’s face splits into a eager grin. He takes a deep breath before beginning. 

“So get this… I’m looking for porn last night…” Barry’s blood runs cold.

* * *

 

Jamie isn’t picky about his porn- gay, straight, multiples, kinky, vanilla, amateur, it doesn’t matter. If it’s legal and ethical, he enjoys it. He’ll go through particular phases of preference. Last month, all he wanted to watch was twinks being edged with vibrating cock rings. Before that, it was MMF amateur threesomes and even before that it was those hopelessly staged boss/employee scenarios (which had absolutely  _ nothing _ to do with his minor crush on his assistant, Hunter, he swears).

Recently, he’s discovered live cam sites- websites with random channels where men and women get off and perform other sexual acts live on camera . They aren’t as well-produced as normal porn and a lot of times the web signal is so bad on some shows that you might as well be wanking off to stop-motion animation, but Jamie really is into it. He can’t quite put his finger onto why- perhaps it has to do with the authenticity of it all. The filming looks rough and the people on screen run the spectrum of physical attractiveness, but the intimacy and the energy of what they are doing makes it all about 20x hotter than regular porn. Jamie also enjoys the interaction via the chat window with the performers. He can type  _ “Pinch your nipple”  _ and the person on camera will do it. It’s the same kind of immediacy and  _ “connecting with your audience” _ that Jamie emphasizes with his team at work. 

As soon as he gets home for the day, shedding his work clothes in favor of a tee and a pair of flannel pants, Jamie settles onto his couch with his laptop and a beer. He types in “C” and the address bar instantly autofills with  _ “Camboy-live.co.uk.” _

Jamie idly scrolls down the homepage, quickly glancing at the current selection of live streams. He doesn’t really have favorites, per se, preferring to see what the site’s algorithm has to offer up. 

He takes his time, clicking and then closing out of various live streams. He’s in no hurry and would prefer to find a video that fits his particular mood rather than just quickly getting his rocks off to something not as fulfilling.

A random thumbnail grabs his interest- A rather plump bottom, barely contained by a pair of bright orange speedos. 

“Why, hello,” Jamie murmurs, clicking on the image. A window opens, already mid-stream, with a guy standing in front of the camera, facing away and moving his hips side to side. Jamie gathers that the guy must be the owner of the arse from the thumbnail. He’s already stripped down to just a pair of briefs, this time burgundy rather than orange. 

“Got a lot of people tonight?” the guys asks, his body twisting toward the camera but his head still out of frame. 

“We’ve almost broke 5K,” someone off camera says. “Why not say hi?” The guy chuckles lightly, and there is a familiarity to the sound that Jamie can’t quite place…

… That is until the guy ducks his head into view of the camera and Jamie almost drops his laptop to the floor. 

“Hi, everyone… Came to see little old me?” Mike Huttlestone.  _ The  _ Mike Huttlestone, in the flesh and in the nude. It takes Jamie a full ten seconds to process; he’s absolutely sure that his eyes are playing tricks on him. That can’t be Mike, right? There’s no way. Jamie  _ knows  _ Mike Huttlestone and he would never do porn… right?

Jamie continues to watch, unblinking, watching Mike strip out of his briefs and stretch out on his bed. He recognizes that bed. He’d had to pull Mike out of it several times when trying to get them to school on time. Now, he’s watching Mike arch up against the duvet as he fucks into his fist, making the absolutely the filthiest noises as he does so. 

“Oh my fucking God,” Jamie mutters. This is wrong, deeply wrong, but he can’t look away because… well, it’s  _ hot as fuck _ . Mike had always been an attractive guy, but this is a side of him Jamie had never imagined. The way he arches his back and bites at his lip and gazes at the camera through dark eyelashes… it all works for Jamie. His hand automatically brushes his groin and a bolt of arousal shoots through him. 

He pulls his cock out and slowly begins fucking into his fist. Normally he interacts with the show, sending messages and encouraging them, but this time he can only watch, chest rising and falling steadily as he takes in the scene. 

Mike slides his unoccupied hand down between his legs, teasing his hole with his middle digit before sliding it inside. He whimpers as he breaches the rim, a shiver visibly running through him.

“That feel good?” The voice behind the camera says. Mike makes an unintelligible noise and nods enthusiastically, his hand continuing to pump his shaft. “You wanna come, don’t you?”

“Please,” the word comes out so desperate and broken, Jamie has to squeeze at the base of his dick to stave off his orgasm. Mike writhes against the bed, his whole body twisting and spasming, legs flexing awkwardly. It’s completely the opposite of how Jamie remembers Mike. Mike, who always seemed so cool and who everyone, guy or girl, seemed to have a crush on in school. Now, Mike looks like any random twink you’d find in Soho who’d blow you in the bathroom of the club. 

Jamie watches the screen rapt, his dick pistoning into his grip, edging closer and closer to his own orgasm. The voice behind the camera softly encourages Mike to continue, the slight authoritarian tone adding another level to the scene and being just enough of a push to drive Jamie over the peak, coming with a moan that echoes off the walls.

Jamie basks in the afterglow for a couple minutes, watching the rest of the stream out of his peripheral vision. Now that he’s not in the haze of reaching his orgasm, the twinge of guilt he felt earlier has become overwhelming. He still sees Mike from time to time when he goes home over the holidays; how will he ever be able to look him in the eye? 

The remorse finally becomes too much and Jamie closes out the screen, sitting in the silence of his flat for a long few minutes. He sighs heavily, letting his head fall back against the edge of the couch. 

“Holy shit,” he mutters.

* * *

 

Barry can’t breathe. His whole body feels numb. Jamie talks animatedly, gesturing wildly with one hand and holding his drink in the other. Barry can’t even focus on the words he is saying, though. Hell, he can barely hear them over the staccato rhythm of his heartbeat in his ears. 

This is Barry’s worst nightmare come to life- Jamie knows. Jamie knows about Mike and the livestream. Jamie knows that Mike does internet porn, and if Jamie knows… how many other people know? They get thousands of viewers every stream, someone either one or both of them know must’ve seen it. Jamie can’t be the first and he won’t be the last. How many people has he told? A story this scandalous probably had him texting every schoolmate he still has saved in his phone.

“Barry, mate… you alright? You look like you’re about to be sick.” The question shakes Barry from his state and he clears his throat and takes a sip of his all-but-forgotten beer.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just… can’t believe it,” Barry gives an over-exaggerated look. “Mike doing porn. That’s crazy.”

“Right? I swore I was seeing things at first, maybe a lookalike or something.”

“Have, uh… Have you told anyone else about this? Or talked to Mike about it?” Barry knows the question is less than subtle, but Jamie doesn’t seem to pick up on the overt meaning. 

“Are you kidding?” Jamie scoffs. “I wouldn’t want to even if I could. How on earth do you even bridge that topic?  _ ‘Cheers mate, want to grab a pint? Oh also, I saw you in a porn.’ _ ” Barry isn’t about to mention that that is literally what Jamie just did to him. 

“You’re the first person I’ve told,” he continues. “You and Mike were always so close and all.”

“What?” Barry’s voice comes out an elegantly-high squawk, but he covers it by clearing his throat once more.

“Well, yeah, you two were a thing for awhile right? Like you messed around?” Barry gives a weak shrug and nod. “Do you still see him ever.”

“No,” he says too quickly and then covers with. “Not for a while, 8 or 9 months ago maybe.” It was partially true; before Mike had asked him to help with the livestream, it had been about 8 months since they’d last talked. 

“Well, if you do see him… don’t mention anything, ok?” Jamie asks. “I like Mike a lot. Wouldn’t want him to be embarrassed.”

“If he’s wanking off online, I doubt he’d be embarrassed about it,” Barry says honestly, gazing at his glass. Jamie chuckles at the comment. 

“Yeah, good point, Baz.” he replies. They chat about other innocuous topics for a few minutes until Barry begs off, lying and saying he has an early morning shoot tomorrow. He and Jamie hug goodbye and Barry heads out of the bar, into the warm evening air. He walks home, hands balled into anxious fists and walking at a pace fast enough to challenge his racing mind.

Jamie knows, which means other people probably know. 

And if other people probably know, then how soon will it be until they know about him?


End file.
